Solanaceae
by Clockwork Storyteller
Summary: Human AU. 1546. Lovino Vargas works as the assistant to a Belgian botanist. Antonio Fernández Carriedo has just returned from a voyage to the Spanish New World. One of them is Solanum lycopersicum and the other is Atropa belladonna. But one thing is clear, the Nightshade family is deadly when handled carelessly.
1. I: 1541

11 December 1541

The sun had dipped in the sky already and the cool wind carried the subtle scent of smoke along. Chimneys across the town wafted little tufts of gray into the multicolor sky. Winter had settled in slowly, but surely. The trees were mostly devoid of all leaves, save for the evergreens. The greenery that still remained in the garden was a welcome sight. Even for the boy in charge of maintaining it.

He had been hard at work breaking up hard soil in the garden so it would be ready for spring. His nails were caked with bits of dirt and small pebbles, his hands dusted a darker brown and the lines in his palm jumping at him, colored in by the debris. He flexed his fingers and looked at the marker. He had reached the end of the plot he had been asked to work on that day. He set down the hand spade and blew his hot breath upward to try and move his hair that had stuck to his forehead with sweat.

Lovino wiped the small beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his tan hand and called out in a dry voice that he was finished. His back cracked in protest when he straightened up from his crouching on the ground and he groaned loudly when his legs tingled. He heard the heavy, ornate, wooden door open and his boss walked out onto her porch. Her golden brown hair was tied back with a ribbon in the form of a headband and the wavy ends fell on her shoulders as she nodded. Her dainty lips were in a thin smile as he put the tools away properly.

"Thank you, Lovino. Your daily pay is here, come take it and we may call it a day." She smiled more now, extending a hand covered in a lace-trimmed glove. Her pastel green gown made Lovino sigh, she looked like the elegant heiress she was rather than a botanist at the moment. He gave her a bow, his muscles and bones protesting the movement, and she laughed softly. She always enjoyed his display. "You are very humorous, Lovino. Your temper would have me believe you would rather be a botanist yourself than an assistant to one, but your manners still prove you respect me."

"Grandfather has taught me never to disrespect a lady, Madame. You treat me well, also, it is only right I do the same." He responded quietly. He took his pay from her hand and kissed it afterward, giving her his farewell. "Lady Bosch, have a good evening at the gathering. I will be seeing you tomorrow."

She leaned on her arms, which she had rested on the porch railing, watching Lovino depart. He was a good worker, and kind at heart despite his temper. She was glad to have found someone with skilled hands to help her tend to her botanical garden so she could focus on studying the plants. She hummed to herself while she watched him disappear from sight and opened the door again to make her way inside once she could not see him anymore. Her garden would be ready for Spring if she continued having the boy help with turning the soil in the winter.

He stretched and let his muscles and bones relax as he made his way home, looking up at the sky to guess at the time. He was facing upward when he heard a commotion on the crossroad, making him turn his head forward again. His eyes widened as he made sense of the noise and found the movement that was causing it, stopping in his tracks. People he did not recognize were entering houses he knew were not theirs and he heard screaming. He looked around and breathed heavily as he made out one man breaking in to a house not far from where he stood. He would be seen if he stayed where he stood. He turned and the name of what he was witnessing came to mind. It was a pirate raid, he had heard of them recently becoming more frequent a few towns over. Knowing there was nowhere to hide if he ran forward, he made his way back to Emma Bosch's house. He pounded the path with his tired legs and knocked at her door desperately.

"Lady Bosch! Lady Bosch! Please! Please let me in!" He gasped, out of breath from the run. He knocked on the door furiously, his knuckles cracking as he did. The door opened and his boss looked alarmed. "Pirates." He managed and she stepped aside to allow him inside before closing the door again.

"Lars! Lars! Lovino says he saw pirates! Lars!" Lady Bosch called up the stairs. She turned to Lovino and patted his arms. "Were you seen? Did they follow? Lovino, listen to me. Are you all right? Are you sure?"

Lovino nodded jerkily before settling himself down a moment later, "I heard screaming and saw people entering houses I am certain are not theirs. Entering by force. The raids must have reached us this far inland."

Emma kept her composure well for someone being told of such a thing and Lovino was almost ashamed of his heightened nervousness. In a few moments, he saw the man he knew to be her step brother, Lars. He was looking very displeased but alert. He had two weapons in hand and Lovino wondered if he was to use one. To his surprise, Emma took the small knife when it was offered and sat back down. Lars gave her a nod as he took position to aim at the door. Lovino could not tell if the thundering he heard was his heart hammering in his head or someone at the door. He took a deep breath in and looked out the window. Someone had set fire to the evergreens in the back. The trees were so sad to look at as they let out dark smoke from the branches slowly being charred. There was a groan of wood and the door splintered open. Emma made a small noise which Lovino mistook as surprise and Lars wasted no time throwing the boy to the ground and away from the intruders. Lovino yelped, shocked at being tackled and hid behind the couch, making his way to a place where he could see outside. There was only a pair of men here and he looked up to see Lady Bosch driving a knife into one of their thighs. He cringed at the sight but knew it was merely survival. Lars had his wheel lock gun aimed at the other's throat.

"You will not take a damn thing from here, is that understood? What's the reward for a pair? Six hundred… seven maybe? You're lucky I don't kill you. There's a lady present."

Emma was sitting once again, her hands pressed neatly on her lap as she held the knife as if it were a mere ornament, not a weapon she had just used to drop a man to the ground. Her gloved hands made a quick move to smooth out her clothes and she set her free hand on her chest. She looked poised once again as she spoke, "Millicent, please. I feel faint, make me a tea if you would."

Romulus Vargas looked furious. Lovino noticed he could not hear his younger brother anywhere and looked up at his grandfather. "Grandfather, are you upset that Feliciano is late?"

Romulus grunted a little before he answered, "It is not with him. His two sponsors. The couple from Vienna. Do they think they can keep Feliciano this late without explanation? He is eight years old and I forbid such a thing. As for you, you took too long to get home. Was the dirt too difficult today and your work was longer or what have you to say for yourself?"

"No, uh, I was just going to tell you. There's a raid here. The pirates made it inland. Lady Bosch was good to let me in her house, there were two not far. I stayed there until Master Lars ordered. They brought me on their carriage. Grandfather… maybe Feliciano is caught in a raid? We should go! It would not be good to wait like this. I am worried."

His grandfather's stern gaze faltered a moment as he took in the information. Then, he nodded and stood to leave the living room. Romulus wasted no time in giving Lovino orders to hide himself in the house. They had a cellar for storage but although he disliked it, he was not to get out of the house and make his way to the cellar immediately. The boy agreed reluctantly, not enjoying the idea of being alone in the cellar while his grandfather and brother were out in the streets during a raid. He felt sick as he watched Romulus vanish from sight, his stomach twisting as he disobeyed and pressed his face to the window. He saw movement and breathed deeply, making his way down to the cellar as quietly as he could. Whether it was his grandfather returning or a raider, he would still be in trouble.

His birthday was the next day, and he wished for only one thing: his brother and grandfather to both be there. He was choking down these wishes, starting to pray a rosary while he waited. Time felt eternal. He was shaking in the cold from the cellar. Knowing that he could not risk to expose himself, he kept his candle close but had long since put it out. The darkness only served to make him hear every sound magnified and to imagine vivid and disturbing thoughts. He felt his stomach twist and pull. His throat felt dry and his heart felt clenched. The feeling is his throat was unpleasant and he bit his lips as he prayed. He hoped that this time his prayers would serve for more than keeping him busy as he whispered Amens. He would rather not turn ten years old at a funeral.

Erzsébet was surprised when Romulus Vargas appeared at her door, she was not a stranger to his distaste for his orders being ignored. Her smile was soft and understanding even as she began explaining that they had, in fact, been raided. She had not yet made a second round through the estate to ensure the threat was gone. She tried to draw attention away from her dirty clothes and dress, hoping he would buy a story about her gardening if asked. She knew it was very unlikely but he did not seem the type to appreciate being told that his grandson had just been witness to something fouler. She sighed once he mentioned that the shovel was still in sight.

"You did not bury them alive, did you Missus Edelstein?" Romulus asked, his voice far too calm for such a question. He did not looked surprised, either, awaiting a response with a firm composure.

Erzsébet blinked, taken aback by the accuracy of his question, "Mister Vargas, what kind of-"

"Do not think me a fool, Missus Edelstein. I know those stains on your face are not branch scratches and the shovel was most likely used as a weapon as well as for its purpose. My grandson had better be safe. If he is not, I will rescind our agreement."

Erzsébet hummed, "Feliciano and Roderich are barricaded in the library. I would never allow your grandson to come to harm. Not under my care. He is much too precious to us. He is like our son, since we do not have children of our own."

"Well, it is supper and he should really be going home now. His brother is waiting for him and I am sure you understand that young boys should not be left alone long." Romulus spoke calmly, waiting to be allowed his grandson.

"Yes, Mister Vargas." She agreed and made her way to the library, whistling a tune to be allowed in. She was still surprised he had been so apt to read her course of action so well from a few hints. Roderich opened the door, Feliciano clinging to the bottom of his doublet. The boy had his eyes closed tightly until Roderich tapped his shoulder.

Feliciano ran to his grandfather as soon as he laid eyes on the man, shaken. The man picked up the child and bid the couple farewell. He was carrying the boy home as the latter whimpered conversation about what he had seen and how frightened he was. Romulus kissed the boy's head and hummed him a lullaby, though he still believed the boy too old for such a thing. If it would soothe the child, he was not against it. Feliciano was so young and far too pure of heart for such dark things.

He opened the door and began singing a song he knew Lovino was not fond of as a sign for him to exit the cellar. The older of his two grandsons waited a moment before he threw open the cellar door and asked him to shut up. His body had seized up when the footsteps signaled someone else was in the home. He had waited for the song to carry on a little longer before making his way out. He studied his brother and grandfather for signs of danger and sighed deeply.

Feliciano asked for more of the song as Lovino, pale from fear and cold, clutched the table and cried a little. He was not usually this expressive around others, but he made the exception out of exhaustion. He had not cried this much since their parents' burial. He was so relieved to have them home, not knowing that the forty minutes he had waited for them were a lot more tiring for him than for them.

He cried at the table as his grandfather served Feliciano. His sniffling had quieted down by the time the eldest at the table had seated himself. They prayed before the meal and Lovino wondered if his shaky faith was any good. It had brought him back the pieces of his family he still had but he doubted his prayers had been answered for his sake. Rather for the sake of his grandfather and his little brother who could smile away a cardinal sin, Lovino sighed. Still, he was a good boy. He told himself so in hopes he would someday believe it. He was a pickpocket, a liar, and he was always dissatisfied with something, he reminded himself. He was a very bad child, borderline awful.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair after the warm bath he shared with Feliciano. Was he good or bad, he never knew if he should ask. He was afraid of being given confirmation on the matter; he was bad and his own opinion was a good enough compass.

.

That night, Lovino stared restlessly at the ceiling, sighing heavily at the thoughts of the day. Working in the soil for Lady Bosch had been the highlight, if he were to be completely honest with himself. A workday having been enjoyable still struck him as odd but he was happy that he was still alive. It was not the best thought to go to bed on, but he was lost elsewhere. What other thing could he honestly be thankful for that day? He sighed and worried about pirates for a moment. Why was the government not taking more action against them? He would have to ask.

He was not trying to be harsh but he felt that Lars and Emma had been too soft in comparison to Erzsébet and the countries nearby. Pirates were a blight that should be exterminated. Every last one of them. He sighed, pirates disgusted him now that he had encountered some. He was repulsed, they deserved the highest punishment available.  
He remembered hearing that in other parts of Europe, the standard was to give them penalty of death. He felt that it was the only insurance they really could have against these types of people. If they were jailed, who was to say they did not return to the same acts as soon as they were free? Or else, what deterrent was there for anyone to become involved with piracy in the first place if not fear of death? He rolled over in bed and pulled his covers over his face. Those cretins did not deserve to walk the earth. He was sure of it.  
Just before falling asleep, he crossed himself as was his habit.


	2. II: January 1542

January 1542

He felt dizzy as the sun beat down on his back, his bare feet burning on the hot, creaking wood of the ship. In the six weeks he had been at sea, he had gotten used to the tilting of the boat and the sickening lurches of unexpected waves. He could keep his balance now but still lost his lunch at times. His body protested the changes from land to sea. His mind adapted faster than the rest of him. He still could not calm the ache in his chest from the separation. His family and he had been on a ship together, victims of a raid at sea. His parents he had not seen since but he was captured and taken from the vessel onto a Spanish Galleon that had obviously belonged to the naval forces. It too had fallen into the clasp of raiders and was now a less reputable vessel - a commandeered Galleon turned pirate ship.

He was still not used to waking in the cargo hold and doing chores. He was a captive in their control, and he feared what might happen if he ever disobeyed. He was always quick to do as told, not wishing to find out what possible punishments the pirates could conjure. He gulped down his unpleasant thoughts and breathed out deeply. It was not the time to think like this, he should be thinking about what the pirates had said. The planned landing was in Italy. He might know someone there, if they had not left the country since their last letter. He knew Emma Bosch, her step brother Lars, Roderich Edelstein and his wife Erzsébet. He decided he could go to one of them for help. Maybe they could find a way to save him from the pirates. He knew their families had been close and doubted they would refuse his plea. By the approximation he had made, they would arrive in March. It was currently January, so he gritted his teeth and told himself to hold on just a little longer.

Days at sea seemed so much longer than when he had been in New Spain. The land days went by quickly, since he was busy with many activities. He thought about the key he had tied to his thigh and the heavy wooden chest it opened. The chest he knew was on this ship, taken from his previous vessel along with many other valuables. It did not hold riches, but held food and seeds for planting. He had been able to keep this chest with him since it was not heavy enough to interest the pirates yet. They knew their loot well and had chosen the heaviest chests first. Those contained items of gold and silver, pottery and other precious crafts. His chest was not worth their immediate curiosity. The seeds he would find a way to deliver to Emma, the fruit he was eating by himself and the miscellaneous items he kept hidden away. He remembered survival methods he learned from the natives of New Spain. Especially the things he learned from the girl his family had taken in. That native girl was privy to many secrets of her people due to her mother's high rank. She had taught him in her innocence, as children are prone to disclose. He learned everything he could from her, though they had not originally gotten along. It was very helpful to remember her advice out at sea, reminding himself what he could eat from the plants his parents had gathered for research. It was his saving grace to know of both the New World items as well as the ones from his native Spain.

The boat lurched forward and the waves crashed over the sides, breaking at the helm of the vessel and landing a clear mist onto the wooden deck beneath the Spaniard boy's feet. The salt water felt cool on his hot body, he took a break to admire the color of the waves and the sun on the horizon, dipping down. Soon the hour would come and it would be time for him to take the speed of the boat with the knotted rope. He looked at his hands and sighed, wondering if the blistered skin would heal before he could reach the continent, not wishing to stand before Emma or Roderich with a working class appearance. Lars and Erzsébet would not mind much, he told himself, for it was true that they may have been of refined birth but they took it upon themselves to do "peasant work" with their hands. He looked behind him into the crow's nest and found that the shipmate there was very interested in the sky. It would soon turn to the starry visage that would tell them if they were on course. He sighed as another shipmate came with a small timepiece. It was time to take the speed of the ship, which meant Antonio would feel the burn of rope on his hands again and have to tug the object back up once the time was up so they could have it ready for the next speed reading. He took the wooden board and tossed it over, counting the lumps of rope he felt rush through his hands. The knots. He nearly complained, instead he grimaced as the rope went on into the water through his sore hands. It would all be for something if he kept his faith up. His religion was strong.

He bandaged his hands again, making sure to rub on some of the slime from the inside of the aloe plant. It was a salve-like slime and it was helping his hands heal from the roughness to which he was so unaccustomed. It was his nightly routine and he could do it almost asleep, which was good since by the time they told him he could sleep he was beyond exhausted to do anything which required too much thinking. He lay face down in bed and began to pray.

"Padre nuestro, que estas en el cielo..." His tired voice began. He sighed as he made the effort to ensure the prayer did not result in a muttered mess. He had been raised more respectful than that, if his choir boy background was not enough proof. He could also recite them in Latin, but that required more thinking than he was capable of since being captured. He looked up at the wooden ceiling, no more than the bottom of the true sleeping quarters. He was in the cargo hold below the true resting areas. He remembered when he had been in the quarters with his parents, the old ship had been nice. He had enjoyed the trip from Spain to the New World and had been enjoying the return voyage before the capture.

"The boy will be good," The captain of the pirate crew had grumbled. "At least that look on his face will serve some purpose."

Antonio had been reluctant to believe someone with such eloquent speech was a pirate. How was it possible, when he had also witnessed that same man read? An illiterate man turned pirate he could comprehend, but one who was able to take a book and make sense of the symbols bewildered him. Piracy was a vile, criminal act, no man of decent breeding would associate themselves with it Antonio reasoned. He resumed his prayers and hummed a little of a lullaby he had heard the indigenous mothers sing to their children in the New World. It was a song he could not take from his head, the girl had been humming it every night since they had taken her in as a house worker. Antonio sighed again, it was very pleasant to say they had taken her in as a house worker when the reality was different. The girl had been a child of a high-ranking couple in the people so they had collected her to save her from the ugly truth of land takeover. In exchange for saving her life, they had her teach them everything about the peoples and the land itself. They made her work for them in exchange for learning how to squeeze a profit from the land she had once called home and ran freely in. He closed his eyes and wondered if this was some divine retribution for the act, he was part of the family that took her from her parents and he was paying by being in her shoes. Himself a captive to some other people who worked him tirelessly until he was allowed to sleep, in exchange for his life. It was no different so he told himself to be like her and adapt to the life he had been thrown into. She had done so by learning Spanish and learning the mannerisms of a noblewoman, so he too should adapt. He should cling to the survival methods he had learned from the native girl. He should embrace his survival instinct. If her way was becoming noble, would his be becoming a pirate?


End file.
